Memories and Scars
by anoelles
Summary: When Snape becomes privy to some of the less pleasant aspects of Harry's past during occlumency lessons, will he be able to overcome his hatred of James Potter, and help his son? No Slash.
1. Occlumency Lessons

"Control your mind, Potter," sneered the potions professor from across the desk. "If you have any intention of surviving an intrusion by the Dark Lord, you must. control. your mind."

"I'm trying, but it would help if you would actually try to teach me instead of just attacking me!" retorted an exasperated Harry. They had been working at occlumency for some time now, but no matter how hard he tried, Snape always broke in to his mind.

Instead of replying to Harry's accusation, Snape hissed "Legilimens."

Memories sped past, starting more recently, then moving backwards.

_Harry doing a barrel roll on his Firebolt to catch the snitch to a round of applause._

_Christmas at the Weasley's, with Harry receiving his new maroon sweater._

_Playing wizard's chess in the Great Hall with Ron._

As the memories went further back, things became darker.

_Voldemort returning in a graveyard._

_Cedric Diggory's ghost asking Harry to return his body to his father._

_Harry telling Cedric to take the Triwizard Cup at the same time, to share the victory…_

"NO!" Harry shouted, finally ejecting Snape from his mind, but not before Snape could feel the waves of guilt washing over Harry at the last memory. Snape hadn't been aware that Harry had willingly shared the "victory" with Cedric. In fact, he was surprised that the spoiled Potter brat was willing to give up any acclaim at all.

"You're failing, Mr. Potter," he said disdainfully. This time, Harry didn't even bother with a response. He just glared.

"If you intend to keep the Dark Lord at bay, I suggest that you stop refusing to put in any effort and try to clear your mind. Now. Legilimens!"

The memories went further back.

_Saving Buckbeak and Sirius in third year. _

_Sirius asking him to live with him._

_The dementors closing in on him, a flash of green light and a woman's scream…_

Snape violently withdrew his mental contact with Harry. "What was that last memory?" He asked sharply.

Harry hesitated, considering his options. He couldn't very well not answer, as Dumbledore had made it clear that no matter what, he was going to study occlumency from Snape, and he didn't want to make it harder on himself. He couldn't lie, because as the lessons proved, Snape could simply read his thoughts. After a moment, he replied. "It was my mother. Every time a dementor comes near, I hear my mother being murdered. Are you happy?" He said, jutting his chin out defiantly.

If Harry had been looking, he would have seen Snape's already pale face go a shade lighter.

"We are done for tonight, Mr. Potter. Return to your common room." Without awaiting a reply, Snape spun on his heels and strode into the lab which was attached to his office.

Slightly confused, and more than a little bit angry at being forced to remember some of his least pleasant memories, Harry stormed out of the office. Inside his lab, Snape downed a calming draught to stop his hands from shaking.


	2. A Hidden Past

One week later, Harry was once more seated across from Snape. He was reading the labels of various vials on the shelves, scanning the titles of books that he saw, and doing anything to avoid making eye contact with his potions professor. "You must look at me if we are to make any progress tonight, Potter." _Not that you have ever made any progress in the past_, he added silently, pleased with himself for having controlled his urge to insult the boy. While he held no affection for the Potter brat, he knew he would only be making his own job harder by angering him unnecessarily.

"If I have to look at you for you to be able to enter my mind, then what difference does any of this make? It's not like I'm seeing Voldemort every day." Harry said in a biting tone, waving his hand around ambiguously. He knew the answer to the question of course, but he was doing anything possible to avoid having Snape in his head again.

"Firstly, Mr. Potter, because I do not have a connection with you that is as..._intimate_...as that you share with the Dark Lord." Harry almost shuddered at his choice of wording, before catching himself. He didn't want to give Snape the pleasure of seeing him squirm, which he was sure was the intent.

"Fine." He said curtly, opening his eyes widely and staring directly at Snape, in an attempt to make him uncomfortable as well. He succeeded, although not for the reason that he would have thought. Snape usually only saw that moronic good-for-nothing bullying father of his, James, when he looked at Harry. Being forced to look at those eyes, though...those were Lily's eyes...

He pushed those thoughts to the back of his mind. This wasn't Lily he was looking at. It was Potter. Spoiled, lazy, untalented Potter, who relied on his fame to get him anything he needed. "Legilimens."

This time, Harry actually managed to keep him out for several seconds, a vast improvement over their past lessons. It didn't take long for Snape to find a way in, though.

_Harry crying over Ginny Weasley's prone form in the Chamber of Secrets._

_Killing a basilisk with the Sword of Gryffindor, and nearly dying himself._

_Being taunted by a gang of Slytherins led by Malfoy._

_Putting a silencing charm up around his bed at night._

Snape paused to consider that one, giving Harry enough time to push him out once more. Pondering what the silencing charm could have been for a moment longer, he pushed the thought to the side, for later consideration. Even with his experiences at Hogwarts, Snape wouldn't have guessed that the insolent Potter boy would have much to have nightmares about.

"Legilimens," he said, starting his attack anew. This time, Harry was even less successful at defending himself. After nearly an hour of having his greasy postions professor digging through his memories, he was starting to get tired. Snape, meanwhile, continued skimming through memories.

_Harry protecting the Sorceror's Stone from Quirrell in his first year._

_Seeing his parents in the Mirror of Erised._

_Chasing after Malfoy his first time on a broomstick, and saving Neville's remembrall. _

_Hagrid breaking down the door of...and Harry on the ground doing..._

Snape paused, and once more Harry pushed him out, breathing heavily now due to the exertion. Though he would never admit it, Snape was confused by the last memory. If he hadn't been mistaken, it appeared that Potter had been laying on the floor of a leaky shack, drawing himself a birthday cake in the dirt, when Hagrid had arrived. _Ridiculous_, he thought. _It's clear from Potter's insolence that he was spoiled. Doubtless he was given everything he could ever dream of, and never lifted a hand to work in his life before he came here._ At this point, though, Snape was thinking these thoughts to convince himself that he had been right all along, as much as anything else. He was sure there was another explanation for the memory. Meanwhile, Potter was still sitting on the other side of the desk glaring at him.

"Once more Potter, and then you will be free to go for the evening. Do attempt to actually do something, this time." Snape said cooly, revealing nothing of his thoughts.

"I'd rather not. I'm getting tired."

"Yes, well, I'd rather not either Potter, but whether either of us likes it or not, the Headmaster has confined us both to this room for an hour a week, and if your abysmal efforts are to improve before the Dark Lord learns of your connection, we must use every minute of that time."

Harry sighed internally, knowing Snape was right, but not wanting to admit it. However, he was afraid of what would come next. If there was anything that he didn't want Severus Snape to see...steeling his eyes, he looked up.

"Legilimens," Snape said quietly.

Memories were rushing past, and Harry had no control to stop them. Forgetting that Snape was in his head and perfectly capable of seeing every thought that passed through it, he kept repeating a mantra in his mind. _Not the Dursleys, not the cupboard, not Vernon. Not the Dursleys, not the cupboard, not Vernon._

Naturally curious at what Harry would expend so much of his energy on not wanting Snape to see, the professor began sifting through Harry's memories more carefully.

_Harry wearing clothes several sizes too large, sitting on the floor trying to patch up a large gash on his arm._

_Harry cleaning the dishes, cooking dinner, and doing yard work._

_Harry being thrown scraps of food from the dinner he had cooked, after the Dursleys were finished._

_Harry being forcibly shoved into a much too small cupboard under the stairs, and locked in._

Somewhere in the back of his mind, Snape could hear Potter starting to hyperventilate, but he was curious, and figured the boy would make it a few memories longer. As Harry began to panic more, the memories rushed by in no particular order.

_A tiny Harry being denied food for two days after breaking a dish while cooking._

_An older Harry looking wistfully through the bars on his window._

_A plate of scraps being shoved through a cat flap on Harry's door, which he hungrily devoured._

_Petunia haughtily telling Harry how his parents were miserable drunks who killed themselves in a car crash._

_Vernon calling Harry a freak on numerous occasions, and his pig of a son mimicking the behavior when they were alone._

_Dudley and his gang attacking Harry, beating him nearly unconscious, and then telling Vernon that he had done something "freaky."_

_Vernon beating a shirtless, clearly malnourished Harry with the buckle end of his belt, reminding him what a burden he was and how he was lucky for the Dursley's to have taken him in-_

The memory went black, and Snape was ejected instantaneously from Harry's mind. Looking around, he saw the 15 year old passed out on the floor next to his desk. Snape hesitated for a moment, staring down at the small form on the ground. Harry must have been better at occlumency than he had let on, to have protected all of his childhood memories for so long. Perhaps that was why he failed so poorly at protecting everything else in his mind. He was dead set on Snape not seeing the truth about his upbringing.

Sighing, Snape grabbed a vial off of one of his shelves, and waved it under Harry's nose until the boy started to wake up, mumbling incoherently. Just as he was placing the vial back on the shelf, Harry realized what had happened, and jumped up, horrified. He rose too quickly, becoming dizzy and falling back down again, before pushing himself into a corner and starting to hyperventilate. While he hardly enjoyed being taunted endlessly by the whole of Slytherin house, including its Head, for being an insolent, spoiled brat, he would have rather been considered that than a weak victim any day.

Snape, looking cautiously at the boy in the corner, started to move forward slowly. Although it would be a stretch to say that his coal black eyes looked kind, they held no trace of anger or mockery, for perhaps the first time. For some reason, this only served to make Harry panic more.

The professor stopped in his tracks, for once unsure of what to do. A still trembling Harry stood up, and shakily, but defiantly, stated "I don't need your pity. And I don't need you in my head. I'll find a way to deal with Voldemort...without you!" He then made his best show of storming out, before collapsing weakly against a wet dungeon wall when he was out of sight of Snape's office.


	3. A Difficult Conversation

After this show of defiance, Snape sat down at his desk, and steepled his fingers under his chin, deep in thought. As tempted as he was to deny the memories, he could see the truth of them in the boy's mind. But it didn't make sense! Why on earth would the boy act so arrogant here after having suffered that with his relatives? It made no sense, he decided. Harry Potter acted like no abused child that Snape had ever seen, and considering the type of families who tended to have children sorted into Slytherin house, he had seen his fair share. But then again, when had Harry Potter ever had the courtesy to be normal?

Snape sighed. As little as he cared for the boy, it was his duty as a professor to report the situation to Dumbledore, and while he was at it, McGonagall should probably know as well.

An hour later, he found himself stationed across a desk from Dumbledore, with Minerva McGonagall seated to his left.

"I know the boy's relatives don't treat him as well as they do their son, but surely things are not all that bad, Severus," Dumbledore said in a kindly voice.

"Not that bad, Headmaster? Would you care to see the memories I viewed, the cuts and bruises, the baggy clothes, the starvation, the abuse." Snape spit the last word out.

"I understand, Severus, that things are not easy for Harry there, but the blood wards-"

"The blood wards nothing. The blood wards will do him no good if he dies from injuries or malnutrition caused by the very people who are within those wards!"

"Albus," Minerva spoke for the first time. "Perhaps you should listen to him. I told you the day we dropped him off, those are the worst sort of muggles. Even considering the protection offered by the wards, we cannot sit by and watch one of our students be harmed."

Albus sighed, bowing his head in thought. "You must know, Severus, that I never believed Harry's treatment to be so severe. When he came to me requesting not to be sent back to his relatives...I thought that it was a young boy angry with his family, not a scared boy, afraid for his safety. I should have watched him more carefully," he said, almost to himself. Straightening up once more, he added "We must find somewhere safe for him to stay. Somewhere that is as protected as possible without the existence of the blood wards. Severus!" he perked up again, a smile smile on his face and a twinkle in his eye.

"Yes, Headmaster?" the potions professor drawled, not liking where this was going.

"I can think of only one place where Harry would be safe. The Burrow simply does not have the necessary magical protections, and it would be too obvious a place to hide him. It is possible that Grimmauld Place has been compromised, and in any case, I don't think he should be locked away for the holidays." Snape glared at him, prodding him to get to the point. "Well, it's obvious, isn't it, my boy? Prince manor! It's as well warded as any wizarding home I know of, and-"

"No." Snape cut him off curtly. "I was doing you and the cause a favor by teaching the boy occlumency at all. I refuse to allow the Potter brat to live in my home as well. Not to mention the fact that he's refusing to speak to me."

"Severus, I think you know the other reason why I believe you would be well suited to the job, yes?" Albus asked. Snape glanced over at Minerva, who was in turn looking curiously at Dumbledore, wondering at the sudden turn in the conversation. "The child needs help Severus, help that you know how to give," the Headmaster said quietly.

Snape let out a long suffering sigh. "Fine. I will keep the boy with me during the winter break, but should he step a toe out of line, he'll find himself out of my house before you can say Expelliarmus. No second chances." Albus's smile widened.


	4. Living Arrangements

At breakfast the next day, Harry was unusually quiet. He hadn't spoken much before bed last night either, having stormed back through the common room and straight into his dormitory, where he resolutely pretended to be asleep as Ron had interrogated him about what Snape had done this time. That same friend, along with Hermione and a few other members of Gryffindor house, were currently looking at him worriedly. Even those who did not know Harry as well could tell that he was not his usual confident self.

"Harry, please tell us what's wrong," Hermione said, a note of pleading in her voice. "We only want to help you."

"Yeah mate, tell us what the greasy git did. Maybe we could talk Fred and George into creating some havoc in the dungeons..."

Hermione and Harry simultaneously shot glares at Ron. "I've told you, he didn't do anything. We just had _remedial potions_," Harry spat. Hermione and Ron were the only others in the school, outside of the teachers of course, who knew what remedial potions was code for. It wouldn't do to let the word get back to Voldemort that the Boy-who-Lived was being trained in occlumency by one of his own supposed followers. And, as angry as Harry was with Snape, he knew logically that it wasn't totally the Potion Master's fault. He had neglected to practice, he had stormed out and refused lessons when Snape was only doing his job...and somewhere in the back of his mind, he knew that he could have fought Snape harder. As angry and humiliated as he had been when Snape saw his childhood memories, Harry knew that to some extent he had allowed it to happen. After so many years of pent up frustration and anger, and an inability to do anything to change the situation, he had wanted somebody to see what was happening, to stop it from happening again. Harry glared severely down at his food as though it had caused the whole situation.

His friends had now stopped trying to talk to him and were sharing concerned glances instead. While Harry continued to refuse to meet their eyes, a piece of parchment dropped into his lap. He looked up and saw an owl he didn't recognize flying away. _Odd, _he thought, _I don't get mail._ As he unrolled the parchment, though, he had to restrain himself from throwing it away from him. In flowing script, it stated:

_Mr. Potter,_

_Please see me in my office at 7 p.m. sharp to resume your lessons. While you might think remedial potions a useless waste of time, I can assure you that it will prove more helpful than you might believe. _

The note was unsigned, but there was no doubt where it came from. Harry glanced up at the dais, his expression flickering between confusion and annoyance, where he saw Professor Snape staring at him unblinkingly. He sighed. Now he couldn't have even pretend to have not gotten the note.

* * *

As 7:00 approached, Harry dragged himself off of the plush common room sofa, where he had been failing at his attempt to finish writing his History of Magic scroll, and headed for the dungeons once more. As much as he didn't want to go, he knew that not showing up would only make things worse for him. The castle was only so big after all, and he dreaded to think what Snape would do the next time they met in class or the Great Hall if Harry missed the meeting. So, he strode down the stairs to Snape's office, head held high and shoulders squared, determined to look as little like the cowed boy from his memories as possible.

He rapped confidently on the door, and a cold voice said, "Enter."

Harry stepped inside, and stood there, looking down at the professor sitting at his desk. Snape was apparently in the middle of grading potions essays, and he had yet to look up.

"Sit down, Potter," Snape said, still reading essays, his voice sounding slightly weary. Harry raised an eyebrow at that, but didn't move.

It didn't take long for Snape to look up, find him standing in the doorway, and send a death glare his way. "I said, sit down."

"I'd rather stay standing if you don't mind, Professor," Harry replied. He didn't know why, but he didn't want to face Snape at eye level. He felt slightly more secure standing above him like this. Unfortunately, Snape must have come to the same conclusion, because he stood up and moved closer, towering over Harry at 6'1". "Very well," Snape coolly, a smirk on his face. "We will stand."

Harry sighed, but refused to say anything in response.

"I need to speak to you about something, Potter." Harry glanced up, slightly surprised. He had bought the excuse that he was here to resume his lessons. "You cannot go back to the Dursleys. As much as I don't like you, I was unable to ignore the memories that were brought up during our last session. I brought the information to the Headmaster and your Head of House, and they both decided that for your safety, you must be moved."

Harry just stood there, a small frown on his face. So that explained the looks that he had been getting from Dumbledore and McGonagall all day. He was angry. He was angry with the Dursleys for how they treated him, angry with Snape for breaking into his memories and then sharing his darkest secrets, angry with his professors for acting like they pitied him, angry at the world.

He turned his glare on Snape. "You had no right-" he had to pause as his voice broke slightly. "Those were _my _memories. MINE! I kept your secret, didn't I? Why couldn't you keep mine?" By the end he had gone from yelling to a near whisper, but in the absolute silence imposed by the stone walls of the dungeon, Snape heard every word. He looked coldly at Harry, perhaps unhappy with the reminder that the boy had broken into his Pensieve, but had Harry looked up again, he would also have seen understanding and even empathy glimmering below the surface of that dark gaze. Instead, he had returned to glaring at the floor, refusing to meet Snape's eyes or even speak again, afraid of what else he might let slip.

"You didn't let me finish, Potter," Snape continued calmly, as though Harry's outburst had never occurred. "Are you familiar with the reason why you were sent to live with the Dursleys?" He asked.

"Blood wards," Harry muttered, still not meeting Snape's gaze.

"Speak up, Potter," Snape spat, beginning to lose his patience, despite his best efforts to stay calm. While he had no intention of telling this to the boy, he did have some idea of how he felt right now: exposed, weak, and humiliated. He was not one for coddling though, and refused to let Harry get away with much insubordination, even tonight.

"I was dumped on the Dursleys' doorstep because of the blood wards," Harry enunciated clearly, although his tone was almost as caustic as Snape's had been.

"Yes, Potter. Although in hindsight he was clearly incorrect, the Headmaster believed that keeping you in the one place where Voldemort could not touch you would be the safest idea." Harry snorted, although Snape misunderstood the reason. Harry's letter had been addressed to the Cupboard under the Stairs, after all. Despite whatever pretenses he may have made in front of Snape, there was no way Dumbledore didn't know what was going on.

"The point is, Potter, you are in even more grave danger now than ever before. The Dark Lord is growing stronger, and you need to be protected. Ideally, he will think you are still safe behind the blood wards at the Dursley's, although I doubt that it will take him long to find that you are no longer there. Absent the blood wards, you must stay somewhere that is as highly protected as possible.

"What about the Burrow?" Harry asked, perking up slightly, speaking for the first time without anger. As hard as he tried, he couldn't be angry while considering the idea of living with Ron and his family all the time.

"I'm afraid not, Potter. Aside from the fact that it is the most obvious place to hide you, the Burrow does not have enough magical warding around it, and it would take too long and require too much energy to put the necessary wards into place. Not to mention, the Weasley's have a half dozen brats of their own to deal with." Harry's glare returned at the insult to his best friend's family, but when Snape had mentioned that it would be the obvious place for him to go, he had immediately changed his mind anyway. He wouldn't be responsible for any more harm coming to the family which had treated him so kindly.

"How about Grimmauld Place, then? It's under a Fidelius Charm, and Sirius is there! Surely it's safe enough." A tinge of hope had returned to Harry's voice, and Snape almost - not quite, but almost - felt a little sorry for him. As much as he despised Harry's mutt of a godfather, he knew that from Harry's point of view, he was the only family remaining to him.

"I'm afraid not, Potter. There are some indications that 12 Grimmauld Place may have been compromised." He left out the part where Dumbledore thought it would be a bad idea for Harry to be locked in a dark, dingy mansion for extended periods with a godfather of questionable judgement and a screaming portrait of his deranged mother.

This time, Harry was angry, sure that Snape was just trying to make him miserable. "Well, besides the fact that there's no one else around who would take me, what about Sirius? How can you just leave him in the house if you know that Voldemort could get in? And why are you still having Order meetings there, if it really is compromised? Be honest, Snape, you just don't want me anywhere with somebody who might actually care about what happens to me." Harry fell silent again after this pronouncement, and Snape didn't even call him out for being rude. Given the next piece of information he was going to have to share with Harry, it wouldn't do well to anger him even further.

"You didn't let me finish, Potter," he repeated coolly, his voice and expression not betraying any of the thoughts simmering under the surface. "Dumbledore has made the decision of where you will go, not me. He has decided that during the winter holidays, you will be going to stay at a place called Prince Manor."

Harry glanced up, confusion having taken over from anger. "I've never heard of it," he said dismissively, after a moment of thought. He then returned to staring at the floor. By now, he had virtually every pattern on the stone memorized.

"Prince Manor once belonged to my mother. Now it is in my possession." Harry looked up, the still present confusion shifting over to make way for frustration and apprehension.

"It is one of the safest wizarding homes in Britain. Considering my...career choices...it was necessary to have somewhere warded against even the most powerful dark wizards. Therefore, all of the necessary protections are already in place." He was quite proud of himself for having said this without a trace of emotion. Most would have criticized him for not sounding more welcoming, but by his standards, apathy towards Potter was an improvement. He still refused to admit to himself that he was starting to feel twinges of empathy for the boy.

Harry clearly did not want to live with the Potions Master, the bat of the dungeons, the greasy git as Ron so often called him. But above even his concerns about living with someone who had made clear his negative feelings towards Harry, he felt befuddlement at why such a person would be willing to take him in at all. Even if Dumbledore had pushed the issue, he doubted the Headmaster could force Snape to take him into his family home. And, as much as he wanted to throw a tantrum and scream and yell and act like the spoiled brat that Snape thought him to be, Harry knew that there was some truth to what he said. At least this way he wouldn't be putting his friends in danger. And he wouldn't have to go back to the Dursleys.

Instead of replying immediately, he said as calmly as he could manage, "You never answered my question about Grimmauld Place. Why are the Order still meeting there if it is compromised?"

Snape was surprised by his lack of response to the announcement of his future living arrangements. He had expected Potter to throw a fit. While he hadn't said he agreed just yet, he was clearly considering the idea. _How un-Gryffindor of him, _Snape thought with slight amusement and not a bit of relief. His mask of calm remained on, as he replied. "We believe that Grimmauld Place _may _have been compromised, however we are not entirely sure. Because there are a number of protective charms on the house in addition to the Fidelius, anybody inside will have ample warning in case of an intrusion. Therefore, while it is safe enough for adult wizards who are planning a war to meet there, I'm sure that nobody would want the _Boy-who-Lived _dying because of negligence." Harry winced at the use of the moniker. Although Snape would probably never believe it, he hated that name. It was a reminder of all those who had died in his place.

Harry sighed. He couldn't fault Snape's logic. While he still had no interest in living with the dour Potions Master, and he was sure the man wasn't any happier about the arrangement, he didn't have anyone else. Once more, he was left with little choice in his future. But, considering how their conversation had gone tonight, perhaps it wouldn't be as horrible as he might have thought a few hours earlier. While Snape could hardly be considered kind, much of the malevolence that had made up their conversations for the past four years had seemed to disappear.

"Fine," Harry said shortly. "I'll come to Prince Manor. May I go now?" And without waiting for a response, he swept out of the dungeons in a way Snape himself would have been proud of if he hadn't been standing in shock at the lack of argument.


	5. House Rules

Winter break was fast approaching, and Harry was dreading it more by the day. When he had returned to his room after talking to Snape, he realized that it was not in fact necessary for him to go to Prince Manor just yet. After all, he had always stayed in the castle or at the Weasley's in the past. There was no reason why he couldn't do the same this Christmas, and put off living with Snape until summer break. Unfortunately, Dumbledore didn't see it that way. Not only had the Headmaster refused to explain his reasoning for sending Harry away at Christmas to the boy's satisfaction, but he was making him stay with Snape of all people. While Harry could understand the logic behind that decision, he didn't have to like it. Harry was frustrated with the aging wizard. The more time that he spent at Hogwarts, the more he felt like a pawn in a giant game of wizard's chess.

He was sitting in class the next afternoon, pondering over the likelihood of surviving the entire break alone with Snape, and stirring his potion absentmindedly.

"What do you think you're doing, Potter?" sneered Snape from above him. Harry jumped slightly. He hadn't even been paying enough attention to hear the professor walk up to him.

"Stirring my potion...sir" he added at the last minute, deciding that there was no point in getting in Snape's bad graces right before he had to go live with the man. Or at least, not any more than he already was.

"Clearly. I meant, why are you blatantly disregarding the instructions I gave?" Snape continued. "It says to stir counterclockwise, yet the great Harry Potter can't even seem to follow that simple direction." He glared down at Harry's potion, which was still being stirred in a clockwise direction. Harry inadvertently dropped the ladle into the cauldron where it landed with a splash. Snape just continued to glare at him. Glancing around, Harry could see the Slytherins on the other side of the classroom snickering. He also saw that while every other potion in the room was some shade of pink, he had somehow managed to turn his a light blue. He looked up at Snape without saying anything, knowing that any argument would only make things worse.

"Evanesco!" Snape waved his wand, and Harry's potion vanished from his cauldron. "Ten points from Gryffindor for an inability to follow basic directions, and detention for you, Mr. Potter, for wasting ingredients with your carelessness." Harry just sighed, and started over again.

After dinner, he found himself trudging once more towards Snape's office in the dungeons. He was slightly confused. Snape had actually been treating him decently in the past few weeks, at least in private. While it would be a large stretch to say he was treating Harry kindly, he at least hadn't gone out of his way to insult him. Unfortunately, the same did not seem to hold true in class. Arriving at the end of the hallway, Harry raised his hand and knocked on the door.

"Enter." A voice replied from within.

Harry followed the instruction, taking a seat across from Snape, who just stared at him appraisingly. Finally, not quite being able to take the awkward silence anymore, Harry asked "What will I be doing for my detention tonight?" Snape seemed to snap out of whatever trance he was in when he heard the question.

"Nothing." He replied finally.

"Uh, sorry, sir? Did you bring me down here just to sit?" Snape had to fight the urge to roll his eyes at the idiotic Potter boy.

"Of course not. I do not enjoy your company that much, Potter. Winter break begins in two days. I brought you down here to tell you what we are going to do once classes dismiss. There are also some rules that you will be expected to follow when you are at Prince Manor. I thought it best to give them to you now so that you have no excuses once we arrive." Harry sighed, feeling as though Snape was already trying to trick him into getting into trouble.

"Now, I want your belongings packed on Thursday night. Put whatever you need in your trunk and I will have my house elf transport it to the house Friday morning before we leave. After classes on Friday, come straight down here. You will come under the pretense of having another detention. From my office, we will travel by portkey to Prince Manor. You must tell no one where you are going. Should anyone ask - even Granger or Weasley - it is imperative that you _lie_. Tell them you are going back to the Dursley's for the break."

"I don't think they'll believe me, sir. They know how the Dursleys treat- I mean, what the Dursleys think of me." Snape caught the slip that Harry made, although he didn't comment on it. He just looked speculatively down at him.

"You'd best make it believable, then, Mr. Potter. If they suspect the truth and Merlin forbid tell anybody else, it is not only your life, but my own, which will be in danger. Make no mistake Potter, I have no intention of getting killed just to spend Christmas with you. Understood?" He tried to sound harsh, but some of the venom had left his voice. Although Harry hadn't finished his original sentence, a little voice in the back of Snape's mind knew what he was probably going to say about the Dursley's treatment of him before he caught himself. Snape resolutely ignored this voice.

Harry nodded.

"Words, Mr. Potter."

"Yes, I understand. I'm a spoiled brat who is a burden on everyone and you're not interested in giving me anything more than what has been required by Dumbledore." Harry said coldly.

Snape paused for a second. "That would be _Professor _Dumbledore Potter, and don't think you'll be getting away with any cheek like that over the break. I have no interest in talking to you when you refuse to even make an effort. Get out of my office, and I will have any other information sent to your dormitory."

Harry got up and left without a word. He didn't need to be asked twice to leave the office. By the time he got back up to Gryffindor Tower, there was a piece of tightly rolled parchment laying on his bed. He debated whether to even bother opening it, but curiosity as to Snape's (probably unreasonable) expectations got the better of him. He sat back and unrolled it.

_Rules:_

_Meals are at 8:00, 12:00, and 7:00. If you are late, you do not eat._

_You will not perform magic of any kind without my express permission._

_You will not, under any circumstances, leave the wards surrounding the property._

_You will keep your room and bathroom clean, without magic. _

_You will spend a minimum of two hours a day doing schoolwork. _

_You will do remedial potions work and other necessary lessons with me every day. _

_You will be polite, address me properly, and not talk back in your usual arrogant fashion._

Harry sighed. It could be worse. Really, all told, these rules were a lot easier than what he had expected from Snape. He had figured that the man would try to get him in trouble at the first chance possible, but as long as he could keep his temper, these actually seemed reasonable. Harry was loathe to admit that perhaps the Potions professor was attempting to be civil, but that did seem to be the case. He glanced through the rules again, pausing on the fifth and sixth. Contrary to what Snape probably believed, Harry was actually pleased to be given the time to do his holiday work. After having his books and wand locked away every summer, forcing him to do all of his summer work the night that he arrived at Hogwarts, he wouldn't complain about that rule. The remedial potions and "other lessons" were rather less appealing. He was sure that "other lessons' meant occlumency, which meant that remedial potions would actually be remedial potions. He grimaced. As if Snape didn't hover enough in class. The last thing he needed was private lessons. There was nothing to do about it though, so he rolled up the scroll again, turning it to ash with a flick of his wand. He didn't want to have to explain it to his roommates should one of them return to the tower early. He then set about packing his trunk, refusing to give Snape a reason to be angry before break even started. By the end of the night, his trunk was packed with everything except what he would need for the next two days. After a brief debate, he also crammed his invisibility cloak into an empty corner, just in case.


	6. Snape Manor

A few days later, after their last lunch in the Great Hall, Harry said his goodbyes to Ron and Hermione. He had done his best to convince them that he was going back to the Dursley's willingly, and that it really wasn't so bad because he had them scared into submission with his wand. Of course, Vernon and Petunia knew better after he had almost been arrested for underage magic in second year, but Harry couldn't think of a better lie to tell his friends. He clapped Ron on the shoulder and gave Hermione a quick hug, telling them both to have a happy Christmas, before heading down to the dungeons. He seemed to be spending far too much time here for his own comfort lately.

Snape's door swung open as soon as he walked up, and he stuck his head in cautiously. "In, Potter, before anybody sees you," the potions master said sourly.

Harry obeyed, noting curiously that Snape had traded his usual teaching robes in favor of a more casual set with long black slacks underneath.

"This is the portkey. It will take us to the boundaries of the wards on Prince Manor." Snape held out an inconspicuous empty potion vial, which Harry obligingly put his left hand on. A few moments later, he felt the twisting, pulling, spinning sensation that meant they were traveling many miles in a matter of seconds. As the spinning stopped, he fell forward, landing on his stomach with a thump. He sighed as he heard his glasses shatter beneath him. Looking up, he saw a blurry Severus Snape standing above him, arms folded. He was pretty sure he could see the sneer on Snape's face even without his glasses.

"Up, Potter, we need to get inside the wards." Harry scrambled to his feet, grabbing his shattered glasses in one hand. "Oculus Reparo," he heard, and felt the glass of his lenses stitch itself back together smoothly. "Now, Potter," Snape said, striding forward without waiting for him. Harry slipped on his glasses and followed quickly behind.

When they reached a large willow tree in the middle of the field they were standing in, Snape paused, murmuring complex incantations under his breath. As he finished, Harry saw the air begin to shimmer, and the professor motioned him through. He felt an odd tingling as he walked through the wall of magic, gasping when he saw what was behind it. What had previously looked like an empty field was now a spacious home, with a large garden behind. Harry noted a few potions ingredients growing in well tended beds.

"Stop gaping, Potter, and come inside." Harry nodded, still slightly surprised. He wasn't sure what he was expecting, but this wasn't it. He had always kind of assumed that the dungeon bat lived in an equally dark and depressing place away from Hogwarts. Actually, that's not true. He had never even pictured Snape away from Hogwarts.

Snape unlocked the front door, and they walked into a spacious entryway. Not wasting any time, Snape started pointing out rooms. Pointing left, he said "sitting room." Right was "kitchen." Straight ahead and to the left was "guest bathroom." Straight ahead and to the right was "dining room, although we won't be using that often." Harry nodded. They went up a long set of wood paneled stairs next, where Snape continued his brusque tour. Pointing to the first room on the left, he said "My bedroom. You go in for nothing." Next to his bedroom was the library, which Harry was actually rather excited to hear he could use for his homework. Maybe with Snape's book collection he wouldn't fail his potions essay for once. They walked down the hallway, and Snape pushed open the last door.

"This will be your room, Potter. I'll leave you to unpack. Remember, keep it neat, and dinner is at 7:00 sharp." Snape ignored the boy's small gasp as he walked back down the hallway to his own room. The room was big. Not huge, but certainly the biggest room Harry had ever had, excepting his dorm at Hogwarts which he had to share. There was a queen-size four-poster bed in the center of one wall, and a large window on the wall opposite the door, offering a view of the garden. There was a small desk and chair across from his bed, next to which was a door that he assumed led to the bathroom. Harry was loathe to thank his previously despised potions professor, but he knew he would have to. This was possibly the nicest thing anybody had ever given him. Except maybe his father's invisibility cloak.

Realizing the time, Harry quickly threw his things into a wardrobe next to the bed, and cleaned up quickly in the equally nice bathroom, before rushing downstairs. Snape had said he expected dinner at 7, and Harry wasn't going to get into trouble for making it late on his first night. Snape had yet to acknowledge the Dursley's treatment of Harry - other than when he had told Harry that he would be staying at Prince Manor, which he did very unemotionally - so Harry could only assume, given Snape's past treatment of him and lack of reaction to his memories, that he expected much of the same things of Harry that his relatives had. While the professor's rules had seemed reasonable at the castle, Harry was certain that Snape would become more severe being stuck with his most hated pupil in his home, and Harry had no intention of making things worse on himself than necessary. Certainly, Snape was harsh, but if Harry could do everything right, and not lose his temper, then this might be one of the better Christmases he had spent.

He took the steps down to the kitchen two at a time, digging through cabinets and cupboards until he found what he was looking for. Snape had minimal food in the house, and most of what was there was packaged, but Harry supposed that made sense, since the Potions Master spent most of his year at Hogwarts. He did, however, find a package of spaghetti and a jar of tomato sauce, along with some dried herbs and a few vegetables that no doubt came from the garden out back. Harry had made more with less over the years, so he got to work boiling and chopping and stirring, not even noticing when Snape entered the kitchen, staring at him slightly confused. Harry began plating the food, not catching sight of his professor until he set the plate down on the table.

"Oh, good evening, sir," Harry said, doing his best to be polite. Even though this was Snape he was with, not the Dursleys, he almost found it difficult not to revert back to the fear and subservience that he had to display during holidays spent away from the castle.

"What is this, Potter?" Snape asked, his tone and expression unreadable.

"You-you said dinner at 7, sir." Harry said, starting to get nervous. "If you don't like spaghetti I can try to make something else, it's just that there wasn't much in the kitchen and I assumed since this was your house you would like it-"

"I meant, Potter, what did you do this for?" He asked, motioning towards the table, and sighing when he saw the boy trying to hide a crestfallen look. "I have a house elf to cook for me, you didn't have to do this. When I said dinner at 7, I meant to eat, not to cook for me. And why did you only make one plate? You have to eat too, Potter. I won't be accused of starving you when we go back to Hogwarts."

Harry looked up somewhat surprised. "I get to-I mean, I have to eat?" Once again, Snape caught the error and said nothing. Perhaps this was going to be harder than Snape had thought. He knew he had yet to discuss the boy's memories outright, but he had hoped that by talking to Dumbledore and McGonogall and taking the boy in with him, for Merlin's sake, he would have earned a little bit of trust. A traitorous voice in the back of his mind told him that he wouldn't be able to undo years of verbal abuse in a matter of hours, but he staunchly ignored it. He sighed.

"Make yourself a plate, Potter, and sit down. There's clearly a few more things we have to cover."

"At the table, sir?" he asked.

"Where else would you sit?" Snape asked, exasperated.

"I don't know, just checking." Snape wondered where his relatives had made him sit, before remembering the images of food being shoved through a cat flap. Harry sat down, but did not touch his food.

"What are you doing, Potter?"

"Waiting for you to finish, sir." Snape glared, internally cursing the Dursley's, and then himself, when he saw that Harry had misinterpreted his expression. Most feared professor at Hogwarts or not, he was going to have to make himself less intimidating if they both wanted to get through this break sane.

"New rules, Mr. Potter." Harry sighed, knowing the last list had been to good to be true.

"You do not need to cook meals for me, or do any other chores, unless I request them of you. You will eat at every meal, and you will eat at the table, at the same time I do. Is that clear?"

"Yes, sir," Harry replied, but it sounded more like a question than an answer. Snape let it go and began eating what actually turned out to be a delicious meal. They ate the rest of the meal in silence, with Harry finishing first...actually, glancing over, it looked like Harry had hardly eaten at all, but appeared to be done with his food. As soon as Snape finished, Harry grabbed everything up on the table like a pro waiter and began scrubbing away at the dirty dishes.

Snape put a hand on the boy's shoulder, noting with displeasure how he flinched away as though expecting to be hit. As much as he was dreading the conversation, they really were going to have to talk about his past.

When the expected hit never came, Harry turned around slowly. "You go upstairs and take the evening off. Do whatever it is that you do in your free time. Tizzy can do the cleaning."

"Sir?"

Snape wasn't sure what the question was, but then he realized. "Tizzy is my house elf Harry. I'm sure you will meet her in the morning." Harry looked unsure, but still nodded.

"May I borrow a book from the library?" he asked.

Snape was surprised. Of all of the things that Potter might do for fun, he had never imagined reading to be one of them.

"You may, although I reserve the right to take from you any books which I deem inappropriate. There are some in my collection which would not even be found in the Restricted Section at Hogwarts. And they're mostly on subjects related to potions. But yes, you may look."

Harry smiled, and turned towards the stairs. As he was leaving, he said sadly "I actually used to be really excited about potions." He had said it too quietly for it to have been intended for Snape's ears, but with his senses finely tuned from years as a spy, he heard it anyway. He didn't know why, but he felt angry with himself. As if implementing some form of punishment, he scrubbed the kitchen from top to bottom by hand, going upstairs over an hour later, only to find a 15-year old with mussed hair and crooked glasses asleep on his library couch under one of Snape's old potions texts. Although he would fervently deny it later, he carefully took off Harry's glasses, set the book on the table next to him, and laid a blanket over the boy. In his sleep, he looked less like James, and more like...well, Harry.


	7. Diagon Alley

Harry awoke the next morning bleary eyed and with an uncomfortable spasm in his neck. He looked around confusedly for a moment, trying to figure out where he was, before remembering having drifted off to sleep while reading the previous night. He shifted to a sitting position, not noticing the blanket that had been laying over him until it slipped off of his lap and onto the floor. Feeling around for his glasses, he put them on, and tried to figure out where it had come from. _Surely, Snape didn't...did he? _Harry thought, before realizing that he didn't know what time it was. He quickly glanced up at the dark clock on the wall. It's hands were at seven and nine. _7:45...I still have time. _He thought in relief. Even if Snape had been the one to cover him last night, he wasn't expecting anything this morning.

Harry slipped quietly down the hall and into his bedroom, unsure if the professor was awake or not. He certainly wasn't going to be responsible for disturbing his sleep. He looked through his trunk for clothes to wear, but all he had were the giant rags left to him by Dudley. He couldn't bring himself to wear the tattered hand-me-downs in front of Snape. Even if the professor hadn't shared his private humiliations with the whole of Slytherin house yet, that didn't mean he wouldn't in the future. Sighing, he put on his school uniform, minus the tie, and headed down to breakfast.

He walked into the kitchen at exactly 7:55. Snape was already seated at the table, a mug of coffee in one hand and the Daily Prophet in the other. He raised one eyebrow at Harry's attire.

"School uniform, Mr. Potter? And here I thought you could hardly stand the...restrictions...imposed on your behavior by Hogwarts."

Harry paused for a moment, trying to come up with an excuse. He hadn't expected Snape to question him on his clothing.

Snape looked up at the boy who was still standing stiffly in the doorway.

"Well, sit down. You don't want your food to get cold."

Harry moved almost robotically to the table, still frantically trying to think of what he would say when the professor noticed him wearing his school uniform every day. "I just like to keep my muggle clothes nice for when I'm at Privet Drive," he blurted out eventually, despite the fact that Snape hadn't pushed the subject.

"I see," the Potions Master replied, eyebrow once again arching. "Would those be the same nice clothes as in your memories, then?" He asked the question softly, almost...almost kindly. At least by Snape's standards.

Harry winced. He had forgotten that Snape had seen the rags he was forced to wear at the Dursley's. Without explicitly acknowledging anything, he nodded. "Yes sir, those are the ones."

"I need to go to Diagon Alley today to pick up some potion ingredients. Should you be so inclined, you may join me. Perhaps there are some additional things which we could pick up that could aid in your dilemma." Harry looked relieved that Snape wasn't going to embarrass him about not having any clothing.

"Yes, sir. That would be excellent. Thank you," Harry said, before turning his eyes back to the bowl of porridge in front of him. He picked up the spoon and slowly began to eat. They finished the rest of the meal in silence.

After breakfast, Snape told Harry to meet him in the library. Harry complied, and a few minutes later, Snape rejoined him. "Now, so far as anyone knows, you are supposed to be with your relatives right now, so we will need to alter your appearance." Harry nodded.

Taking this as approval, Snape pointed his wand at Harry and muttered something under his breath. Harry felt an odd sensation in his face, and turned to look in the mirror hanging over the fireplace. His scar had been covered and his hair was now a longer, more controlled, dirty blonde, although his face structure hadn't been changed significantly. Just enough to disguise his identity. He could almost have been a Malfoy. He shuddered at that thought, then turned back to Snape.

"How are we traveling?"

"Floo powder, Mr. Potter," Snape replied, holding out a jar that had been sitting on the mantlepiece. Harry stepped into the fireplace, tossed a handful of powder down, and as green flames appeared, announced very clearly the words "Diagon Alley." He wasn't about to make the same mistake that he had made the last time he was traveling this way. Harry could only imagine Snape's face if he ended up in Knockturn Alley.

On arriving at Diagon Alley, Harry immediately tried to split off from Snape and make for Madam Malkin's, but the professor took hold of his shoulder and steered him towards the potions store instead. "Even with your altered appearance, there are too many who would wish you harm. Not to mention the amount of energy it would require for me to keep the glamour up at a distance. You aren't to leave my sight until we arrive back at the manor. We will do your shopping after I get my ingredients." Harry nodded as he was directed into a store that looked like a brighter version of Snape's office. He didn't like it, but he couldn't fault Snape's logic.

It didn't take long for the Potions Master to collect the items needed to replenish his stores, and soon after, Harry found himself once again being led through the crowded alley towards Madam Malkin's. He was tempted to object to being dragged around like a toddler, but there was something about this feeling of being cared for that he found quite nice. He decided to keep quiet, for the moment. They were almost to Madam Malkin's anyways.

Once they walked in, Harry realized that he had no idea what to say. In the past, he'd always just handed her his school list and let her go from there. He looked quickly around the store, but he didn't see anything that could help him figure out what to ask for. He shuffled his feet, trying to glance around inconspicuously at the robes of the wizards passing by the shop. Somehow, he had never paid all that much attention to wizarding attire. He always just got what was on the school list, assuming he'd be stuck in Dudley's cast-offs as soon as break began. As if sensing Harry's rising panic - or maybe just tired of standing around - Snape stepped in. "This is my nephew from out of town," he said smoothly, without batting an eyelash. "Unfortunately, his luggage was damaged in transit and he'll be needing a full wardrobe for while he's here." Snape looked down at Harry, pausing for a second, before returning his ever-stern gaze to Madam Malkin. "Wizard and muggle, please, we have some business in muggle London."

Harry sighed and gave Snape a quick smile of gratitude, hoping that his professor would understand the expression. If he did, Snape gave no indication. Harry was measured and weighed in silence, and carried his many heavy parcels out of the store without complaint. After they had covered half of the distance back to the floo, with Harry having to stop every few steps to readjust the weight of his new clothes, Snape huffed and cast a shrinking charm, at which point Harry tucked the packages all into his uniform pockets, smiling to himself. He wasn't sure what had brought on this new burst of helpfulness in Snape, but he wasn't going to mention it, just in case it went away.

* * *

That evening, as they sat down to dinner, though, Harry decided that he had to interrupt the extended silence. Oddly enough, Snape beat him to it.

"We need to talk, Mr. Potter," he began solemnly. If he had known Snape well enough to read his expressions, Harry would have noticed the faint crease between his eyebrows and the slight downward quirk of his lips that signaled exactly how distressed this subject was making him. Instead, Harry saw only the stern expression that usually graced his professor's face.

"Sir?" Harry asked nervously. He had just been about to thank Snape for allowing him to purchase some new clothes this morning. After all, Snape didn't seem the type to enjoy clothes shopping. After seeing the look on Snape's face, though, he was worried that he had done something wrong. Or, more likely, Snape was going to request some type of reimbursement for the time he expended on Harry this morning. Harry looked down at the table, brow furrowing and shoulders hunching unconsciously, as his mind brought forward all of the possibilities for punishment.

Snape, eyeing his ward from across the table, saw this reaction and sighed. He knew that in order to have this conversation, he was going to have to lessen his usual callous demeanor. The problem was, he wasn't sure he could. Life had molded him into a cold, mostly unfeeling person, and in recent years, that seemed to be easier. He had no interest in making himself vulnerable to a student...a Potter, no less! But, as he looked at the boy hunched over the table despondently, he couldn't bring himself to see James Potter. Instead, Snape saw only a reflection of his own childhood.

Deciding that neither he nor Harry were feeling particularly large appetites at the moment, Snape rose from his chair, vanished the food, and set one long-fingered hand on Harry's shoulder.

"We need to talk. Perhaps we would be more comfortable in the sitting room."

Sensing that this was not a request, Harry stood numbly, and walked out of the kitchen. Still frowning slightly, Snape followed.


	8. Nightmares

A/N: Thank you to all of you who wrote the very kind reviews that I have been receiving! I'm sorry that it's been so long since I've updated - health problems have made this summer sort of crazy - but I'm back to writing now. Hope you like this one!

* * *

Harry perched himself uneasily on the edge of a sofa in Snape's sitting room, catty-corner from Snape himself, who was looking equally uncomfortable in his armchair.

"I had hoped, Mr. Potter, that by removing you from the situation imposed on you by your relatives, your problems would have been resolved. However, it appears from your behavior since arriving at Prince Manor, that this is not the case." The normally self-assured Potions Master stopped here, for once not entirely sure of how to continue the conversation. He was finally starting to acknowledge the voice in the back of his head that was telling him that perhaps he had brought some of this on himself. After all, if anyone at Hogwarts were to recognize an abused student, it would be him. It had been him, on any number of occasions. He never pitied, never coddled, but he did use his knowledge to treat their injuries, and his connections to drop hints where necessary in order to change living arrangements and prompt questions that might otherwise have remained unasked. Professor Snape had never been a soft man, but to those who had been helped, quietly and efficiently, he would not have been considered unkind, either. Most students never saw this side of him, though, and particularly not Harry Potter.

_Bloody Potters_, Snape thought, _always causing trouble_. But his thoughts had lost the venom they once held. His true anger was now directed inward, at himself. He had no excuses. It wasn't that he hadn't seen the signs; he had blatantly ignored them. Potter was underweight at the beginning of every term? Must be too picky about his food. He had unexplained bruises? Clearly he was starting trouble at home as much as he did at school. He was defensive about his time away from school? Obviously trying to hide how his relatives spoiled him. Snape glared, frustrated with himself, only pulling out of his thoughts when he realized the effect his look had on Harry. He turned his attention back to the boy sitting nervously in front of him.

"I've seen your memories, Potter. I know them to be true. Why did you never say anything?"

That made an impression. The teenager went from despondent to angry in a heartbeat, meeting Snape's eyes with a venomous glare. "Tell whom, exactly, _Professor_? You? You, who always hated me for the sins of my father? Or perhaps Lupin, or Sirius, who, just like you, only see James when they look at me?" Harry almost spit his father's name in the direction of the professor, who was currently sitting in a state of semi-shock. "Or perhaps, I should have told McGonagall, since she is my head of house," he continued angrily. "But no, wait, that wouldn't work, considering that the letter she wrote to me first year was addressed to '_Mr. H. Potter, the Cupboard under the Stairs.' _I mean, who thinks a child living in a cupboard under the stairs is normal, but did she ever say anything? NO!"

"Professor Dumbledore-" Snape started quietly, still slightly unnerved by the unexpected outburst.

"Dumbledore," Harry started with a sneer reminiscent of those often worn by Snape himself, "doesn't care about me, Harry. Dumbledore wants the Boy-who-Lived. He wants a savior, someone to fight off Voldemort every time he turns up, someone to save the bloody world. So does everyone else. They expect a hero. And a hero can't be weak." By the end of his rant, Harry's voice had gone softer, sadder, and Snape had regained his usual snark.

"So, you've turned yourself into a hero now, have you? You think that blind luck and foolish bravery make you-"

"If you don't mind, Professor," Harry interrupted quietly, "I'm feeling rather tired all of the sudden. I think I'll go to bed." He turned and walked out of the room, without a backward glance. When he reached the doorframe, he turned his head slightly, although not enough to see his professor. "And I don't think anything that _I've_ done has made me a hero. My mother's actions did that." Without another word, Harry left, walking slowly up the stairs. He looked almost pained.

Back in the sitting room, Severus Snape had his head buried in his hands, dark locks obscuring his face. This was going to be harder than he thought.

* * *

Several hours later, the Potions Master of Hogwarts was turning fitfully in his sleep. He was not a man prone to guilt, but despite himself, he regretted the way he had treated Potter during their conversation. His own experiences told him that the boy needed to vent, to get out the pent up frustrations of years of torment at the hands of his relatives, but oh, Merlin, was it difficult. Even under the circumstances, he had very little tolerance for emotional outbursts, and none at all for being yelled at in his own home. Especially not when he was only trying to help!

He continued tossing and turning, memories of his own childhood swirling around with those he had seen in Potter's mind, his brain making unwanted connections between their pasts. As unsettled as his sleep was, Snape awoke in an instant when he heard a scream from down the hall. He was on his feet in an instant, wand in hand. He hadn't felt anybody breach the wards, but he wasn't taking any chances.

He silently moved down the hallway towards the origin of the screams, nothing more than a shadow in the darkness. He moved into Harry's room, opening the door as quietly as he possibly could. As soon as he had convinced himself that they were the only two present in the room, he whispered "Lumos," and a soft light lit the area around him. Snape's eyes were immediately drawn to the bed, where a pale, underweight, child was thrashing around.

"Potter," Snape said loudly, slightly annoyed at being woken, but more disturbed by the sight in front of him. "Mr. Potter," he said again to the tormented figure laying on the bed. If anything, his voice seemed to make the nightmare worse. Sighing, he set his still lit wand on the nightstand, and grabbed Harry's shoulder firmly, shaking him. Almost instantly, Harry stilled, and his eyes snapped open in fear. Still feeling the strong grip on his shoulders, Harry shoved backwards off of the bed as quickly as he could, slamming painfully into the nightstand before curling into a ball in the corner of the room. Snape could just make out his silhouette at the edge of the light, rocking back and forth.

"Potter," he repeated again, trying to get the boy to snap out of whatever trance he seemed to be in. Harry, for his part, was unsure of what was happening. He had been back at the Dursley's, in his cupboard, when he felt a pair of hands grab him and shake him...

"I'm sorry Uncle Vernon," he whispered, too afraid to look up, still half in his nightmare. Harry didn't know where he was anymore, but if he had woken his uncle up in the middle of the night, it wasn't good.

Snape grimaced, cursing the Dursleys, and Dumbledore, and everyone else that had led to him being in this position. He was _not _the person to comfort Harry bloody Potter in the middle of the night! He glared down at the floor, but when he finally looked up again, his gaze softened a little. The look in his eyes wouldn't have been consoling, by any standards, but it was lacking it's usual malice, as Snape thought back to another boy afraid of the horrors that awaited him in the night.

He knelt down so that he was on eye-level with the teen. "Harry," he said quietly, and he hoped, less severely. "Look at me, Harry. It's Professor Snape. Your uncle isn't here." He continued this line of reasoning until Harry's breathing started to even out. When the boy realized where he was, he looked up for a moment, before he buried his head back in his knees, humiliated.

The two unlikely companions stayed like that for a few moments, barely daring to breathe, before Harry finally pulled himself together enough to stand, straightening his spine and lifting his head. "I apologize for waking you, Professor. It won't happen again." He turned on his heel, and wishing that he was somewhere other than his bedroom so that he had the option of leaving, he calmly straightened the covers on his bed, slid underneath, and then leaned against the headboard with his arms crossed as though he hadn't a care in the world. Snape stared at Harry for a second longer, unsure of whether to leave him to his own devices, but decided that his sleep was as important as that of his student. Without any further discussion, Snape left as quietly as he had entered. As soon as he was out of the room, Harry broke down trembling, wiping the remaining sweat from his forehead. Neither got any more rest that night.


	9. Changes

Breakfast was a quiet affair the next morning - silent, actually - as neither Snape nor Harry could decide on an appropriate topic of conversation. Harry spent the duration of the meal staring intensely at his cereal, only looking up when he asked Snape to pass the pitcher of pumpkin juice. Snape, using Harry's lack of eye contact to his advantage, used the meal to observe the boy carefully.

The first thing he noted was that Harry was much slighter than most boys his age. He was short, and rather thin; Snape couldn't help but notice Harry's ribs showing through pale skin the night before. The hand holding his glass of pumpkin juice had a slight tremor, Snape saw. Harry had shadows under his green eyes, which currently looked dull, even in the early morning light. That bothered Snape more than anything else. Lily's eyes shouldn't look like that. Her eyes were always bright, sparkling with laughter, not filled with the lifelessness that currently seemed to permeate her son's. _Even on her worst day she never looked like that_, Snape thought. He looked down for a moment, gathering his thoughts.

"I've given you some leniency with your lessons so far, Mr. Potter," he started, "but the time has come to actually put in some effort." Harry snorted. Although Snape hadn't actually started his private tutoring yet, Harry had still been working on homework three hours a day. In fact, he was almost finished with his holiday work. He had practiced his vanishing spells for McGonagall's class, written an essay on counter-charms for Flitwick, made up a bunch of nonsense for his heretofore lacking dream diary for Trelawney, and written two feet on the Giant Wars for History of Magic. The only thing he had yet to finish was his potions work. Actually, he had yet to start his potions work.

"What did you dream about last night?" Snape's change of subject caught Harry off guard, and he looked up sharply.

"I'm sorry, sir, but I could've sworn you just asked me what I dreamt last night," Harry said, somewhat rudely. He had done well at controlling himself until the previous evening, but now he couldn't seem to hold it in anymore.

"That is exactly what I asked, Mr. Potter. Care to provide an answer that might actually prove helpful?" Snape replied. He was attempting to be pleasant - today wasn't going to be easy regardless - but his voice had a hard undertone that suggested he wouldn't accept any disrespect. Harry heard that tone and heeded its warning.

"I apologize for waking you up last night, sir. That wasn't my intention. I was...last night I...I forgot to set the silencing spell, that's all. I won't forget again." Harry finished talking and immediately returned his attention to the table in front of him.

"That's not what I - excuse me, Potter, did you just say you've been using a silencing spell? I thought I made myself clear on using magic in my home, without my permission," Snape scowled. Harry tensed at having been caught out. The professor sighed. He wasn't one for leniency, but he knew this was the least of their problems at the moment.

"Is that why you look like you've been raised from the dead, Mr. Potter? Have you not been sleeping well?" Snape's voice had returned to the pleasant, if slightly dangerous seeming, tone.

"Just...dreams, sir. It's nothing I can't handle." Harry didn't like where this conversation was going. He had told Dumbledore about his dreams often enough in the past, but at the moment, he and the headmaster weren't on the best of terms, so he'd been trying to process the emotional turmoil brought on by the visions himself, albeit without much luck.

"Well, Mr. Potter, sadly for both you and I, we must resume occlumency today."

"But sir, it hasn't even been a week since the last lesson!" Harry cried out. The last thing he needed right now was Severus Snape poking around in his brain.

"Yes, Mr. Potter, I too am capable of reading a calendar. However, since you won't tell me what you were so...upset...about last night, I can only postulate that it had something to do with the Dark Lord, in which case your mastery of occlumency has become even more urgent." In reality, Snape knew that Harry had been dreaming about his relatives. The boy had even referred to him as 'Uncle Vernon.' In phrasing his request this way, though, Snape had two goals: first, he wanted to see if Harry would admit to the abuse that was clearly inflicted upon him by his relatives. Second, Snape knew, even if Harry didn't, that his mind was weakest in sleep. If ever there was a time that Voldemort would break into Harry's mind, it would be while he was dreaming, and if that were to occur, the last thing they needed was to have him see Harry's greatest weakness.

"I, uhm, well..."

"Articulate as always, Mr. Potter. I will see you in the library in ten minutes. No need to bring your wand." Harry didn't acknowledge his statement, but rather kept staring at the table. He was intently trying to make pictures out of the patterns in the wood to avoid saying something that he might regret later. Snape huffed, not liking being ignored, but opted to remain quiet, rising from the table and banishing the dishes. When he walked out, Harry hadn't moved a muscle.

* * *

"Legilimens," Snape uttered as soon as Harry walked into the library, not giving the boy a chance to prepare himself. Harry was two minutes late, so, Snape reasoned, he was making for lost time. And, he wanted to see what Harry had dreamed last night that had so frightened the boy. Although he had yet to show it, there was a shift happening in Snape's mind. Harry had had his moments of defiance since he had come to Prince Manor, no doubt, but for the most part he had been well behaved. He did his work without complaint, even tried to cook and clean...no, this was not the spoiled brat Snape thought he knew from Hogwarts, not at all.

In the past, Snape had let the memories fly past haphazardly, but today, he was looking more carefully. Harry could feel what he was doing, and he hated it, but no matter how hard he tried to clear his mind, to erect a wall around his memories, to do anything at all, he seemed powerless against his professor. Although Harry was unaware of it, Snape was one of the most accomplished occlumens in the world, behind only Dumbledore and Voldemort, so even if he had been more adept at the subject, he would have had very little chance of successfully blocking his mind if the Potions Master really wanted to get in.

Snape, however, was less concerned about Harry's weak attempts at pushing him out, and more concerned with finding memories of his dreams. He breezed quickly through the memories he had already seen of Quidditch victories, nights in the common room with Ron and Hermione, even the memories of Voldemort flipped by without much thought. Snape had to fight to avoid getting sucked into a particularly painful memory from the Dursleys - the strong emotional effect it had on Harry also influenced anyone else in his mind - but eventually he found what he was looking for. He slowly begin to watch visions of mysterious houses, a dark corridor with a door at the end that Harry could never seem to reach, and to Snape's horror, any number of Death Eater meetings. He once again felt the tug of a memory, and this time let himself fall into it without a fight.

_"My Lord," memory Snape said, bowing low to the dark-robed figure in front of him._

_"What information do you have for me, Severus?" the cold voice asked. A large snake slithered at his feet, ready to strike at any moment. Snape's saw his eyes flicker down to the venomous creature, but then he straightened._

_"Nothing of interest, my Lord. The Potter boy has returned to his relatives for the summer, no doubt being spoiled rotten, and untouchable for the moment," __he said with disdain. _

_The Snape watching the memory cringed at his tone when describing Harry's home life. He knew that when he said those words, he believed them, without doubt._

_"That is not what I was hoping to hear, Severus." _

_Snape paled slightly. "My Lord, with the students and staff away for the summer, there is little of interest for me to bring you. I assure you, as soon as the students return, I will-"_

_"That isn't good enough, I'm afraid." Voldemort said calmly. "Crucio!"_

_There was a flash of red light, and memory Snape was writhing on the ground in pain, silently. He refused to give Voldemort the pleasure of hearing him beg. It wouldn't make a difference, in any case. _

_Current Snape flinched when the curse was cast, out of habit, but was even more horrified when he began to feel the fiery pain in his nerves that characterized the Cruciatus Curse. Snape fought to withdraw himself from the memory, remembering very well how that night ended. After a struggle, he pulled himself out of Harry's mind._

Said teenager was currently splayed out on the floor, looking up cautiously through messy black hair. While Snape's pain had ended the moment he left the memory, he couldn't help but notice that the tremor in Harry's hand had grown worse. How had he never noticed that before? He reached his hand down to Harry, who, after a moment's hesitation, took it. Snape pulled the underweight teenager up without any effort.

"Explain to me what I just saw," he said tonelessly.

"It's...I dreamed it. I see things. I can't control what I see. Or what I feel. I'm sorry." Harry was starting to grow concerned. He didn't know what Snape's reaction would be to Harry having seen this particular meeting. He was sure it wouldn't be good.

"That is exactly the point of studying occlumency, Mr. Potter. Unless you wish to continue being indirectly subjected to the Cruciatus Curse? No, I thought not." Snape gave a frustrated sigh, and walked through a side door into another room. Harry stared after him, unsure of what to do, but Snape returned momentarily with a vial of something gloppy and purple. Snape thrust it into his hand. "Drink."

Harry looked at it hesitantly. "If I were going to poison you, Mr. Potter, I would have done it long ago. It is a potion to minimize the after-effects of the Cruciatus Curse. I don't know how often you've been under the effects of the curse in your dreams" - Snape paused and gave Harry a sharp look - "but even without the curse being cast directly upon you, it seems to have caused the same type of nerve damage found in those who have suffered long-term exposure."

Harry couldn't think of a good reply, so to avoid speaking, he took a swig of the potion, nearly choking at the taste. Sensing the glare from Snape, he emptied the vial quickly, before handing it back to the professor. By the time Snape had returned the vial to wherever it had come from, the shaking in Harry's hands had stopped almost completely, and the sharp pains throughout his body had dulled to a quiet ache.

"Thank you, sir. That - it helped. Thank you." Snape inclined his head in reply, then sat heavily.

"Why didn't you fight harder to avoid spending your break with me?" He asked quietly.

Harry looked up, confused. "I - well, to be honest sir, I tried to convince Dumbledore to let me spend the holiday at Hogwarts, but he said with most of the professors away the castle's defenses would be weakened. And you were right about me putting the Weasleys in danger. And I couldn't...I would rather be with you than the Dursleys." Harry ducked his head, embarrassed at this last admission.

"Even having seen...what you saw?" Snape asked slowly. "Was that the first time that you became aware of my other activities?"

Harry stayed quiet for a moment, trying to decide the best course of action. Finally, he decided that nothing but honesty would work at this point.

"The first time I saw a meeting that you were present at was third year. I didn't - well, you had made it perfectly clear by that point that you hated me, although I never knew why. And I didn't like you all that much either. So I went straight to Dumbledore in the middle of the night. I was sure he had made a mistake in, well, in trusting you at the school." Harry paused, unsure if he had said too much, but Snape remained quiet, expressionless, waiting for Harry to continue. "He told me then, what it is that you do for him...for all of us. He also told me that if I started to treat you any differently it might put you in danger, if Malfoy...uh, I mean, if one of the students who had connections to...well, you know, if anybody happened to mention it to Voldemort. And to be honest, sir, with the way you treated me, I still had trouble liking you very much. Even though I knew that you had to. So...yeah." He finished lamely, not quite sure what else to say. Snape, too, was shocked out of speech. It had never occurred to him that his most hated pupil would have kept his secret all these years.

"I don't hate you," he finally managed.

"Sir?" Harry asked.

"I have never _hated _you, Potter. It is true that I did not like you - at all - regardless of the appearance I had to maintain. But, a great portion of what I blamed you for was - you look much like your father, Potter. And he and I...were not friends. I could not help but see his faults in you, even where, perhaps, they did not exist." Snape looked pained at this admission. He did not like to admit he was wrong, and he liked apologies even less, which was one reason why he rarely gave them. But, in this case, he could no longer bring himself to muster the vitriol that he had once felt when thinking of the boy.

"Is that why you always call me by my last name?" Harry questioned. Snape looked up, carefully studying those green eyes, but he found none of what he expected to see. Instead of laughing at Snape's admission of wrongdoing, Harry simply looked sad.

"Yes, I suppose so." _And I couldn't risk getting too close, _he added silently.

"Could you..." Harry trailed off uncertainly.

"Yes, Potter?" Snape asked with a hint of annoyance.

"Would you mind calling me Harry?"

Snape considered for a minute, thinking of all of the reasons why this would be a terrible idea. "I suppose so, Po-Harry." He corrected. "And I think that will be enough occlumency for the moment. I need time to consider what I have seen."

Harry nodded and stood to leave. He couldn't help but feel that they had a breakthrough today. He wasn't sure with what, exactly, but the fact that Snape had seen his memory of the Death Eater meeting without getting angry, _and _had agreed to call Harry by his first name...something was changing, and for the better, Harry thought.


	10. Potion Talk

After returning to his room, Harry decided to work on his potions essay. He wasn't sure exactly what had occurred in the library just now, but for some reason that he couldn't quite put his finger on, he didn't want to break the uneasy truce that he had seemed to make with Snape. He scanned through the pile of texts sitting haphazardly on his desk until he saw the blue spine of "Magical Drafts and Potions" by Arsenius Jigger. He flipped it open with a sigh, turning to the section on the properties of Moonstone, and started writing.

Half an hour later, he had a respectable six inches on the behavior of Moonstone in the Draught of Peace, but nothing on the Syrup of Hellebore, the powdered porcupine quills, or the powdered unicorn horn. He closed the blue book from his first year - he always kept his old texts just in case he needed them - and went looking for his current potions book. And he couldn't find it. After scattering his texts all over his desk, he flung open his wardrobe and rifled desperately through his trunk, before sitting back on his heels. Of all of the books to forget when spending the holidays with Snape, it had to be his potions text.

But he sat up straighter as he realized that just down the hall, there was an entire library full of potions books. Surely one had the information he needed! Opening his bedroom door as quietly as he could, he tiptoed down the hallway, quill and parchment under one arm, cautiously poking his head in the library to make sure that the professor was no longer inside. He was so intent on making sure that the library was empty that he entirely missed said professor walking up behind him.

"Looking for something, Mr. Po - Harry?" Snape corrected himself. This was going to take some getting used to.

Harry spun so fast that he almost hit Snape when he turned. He then backed up very quickly, until he was standing against the wall. "Um, well, you see professor, I was just, well, working on my potions essay," Harry started, not wanting to admit that he had forgotten his book. "And I just, uh, thought that since it was your library, and you said I could use the books" - he paused and glared up as if daring Snape to deny his earlier statement - "that maybe you might have something that I could use to help me write."

"Will your textbook not suffice?" Snape asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Well, I just thought that since you have so many books, that maybe I could do an even better job on the essay with more information," Harry replied meekly.

Snape looked as though he was going to continue questioning him for a second, but then stopped himself. "Might I suggest the Book of Potions, by Zygmunt Budge? I believe you'll find it over there," he said, pointing towards a shelf on the far side of the room. "It is rather advanced, but if you really want to improve your essay, it could certainly aide in your efforts." He nodded to himself, then turned and walked off in the other direction, leaving a very surprised Harry in his wake.

* * *

Two hours later, it was lunchtime, and despite his promise to himself that the boy wouldn't eat if he didn't make it to the kitchen at mealtimes, Snape walked back upstairs to remind his charge of the hour. He stopped and stared at the sight in front of him when he reached the library. There was an apparently finished essay sitting on the desk, but Harry was still sitting sideways in an armchair, his legs thrown over the side, seemingly engrossed in one of Snape's potions books. Advanced Potion-Making, he noted with surprise. _Looking j__ust as he did on his first night here_, Snape had to remind himself. At the time he'd thought it was a fluke, but he was starting to wonder now if Harry had really meant it when he said he had once been excited about potions. _And I crushed it out of him. _He sighed.

"It is after noon, Mr. Potter," he said. Harry jerked his head up, having missed the arrival of the Potions Master.

"Harry," the teenager corrected quietly. Snape merely nodded his assent. They walked downstairs without speaking, both caught up in their thoughts.

By the time they were seated with their meal in front of them, Harry had summoned enough courage to ask a question.

"Sir, um, could I ask you something?" Snape raised an eyebrow at Harry, silently telling him to continue.

"I was reading one of your potions books, and it was talking about aconite. And I remember Hermione saying something once about how aconite was poisonous, and that it used to be used for hunting wolves. Except, in the book I was reading it said it was used in Wolfsbane Potion. And I was wondering how? That is, how it doesn't kill anybody who takes the potion?"

Snape gathered his thoughts before answering. "It is true that aconite, or monkshood, is a highly toxic substance, and today it is very rare, which is why Wolfsbane is so expensive to make," he began, immediately going into lecture mode. "However, combined with the right ingredients, the toxic portion of the aconite can be neutralized, allowing a skilled brewer to take advantage of its medicinal properties."

"Like to keep werewolves from being dangerous? How does that work, exactly?"

"Werewolves are always dangerous," Snape snapped angrily, before forcing himself to take a deep breath. "Wolfsbane can ease some of the symptoms of lycanthropy, it is true, but even then, there are no guarantees," he continued in a much calmer voice. "Wolfsbane is an exceedingly difficult potion to brew, and even the slightest error can render it ineffective, as can improper dosage or any number of other factors."

"I'm sorry, sir," Harry said, although he wasn't entirely sure what he was apologizing for. "I just meant, well, Lupin told me that you make it for him, and how much easier it made things for him. I appreciate it." He said the last sentence quickly, before he lost his nerve.

"You appreciate what, exactly?" Snape asked, genuinely confused by the statement.

"Well, I don't know why, but I know that you don't like Lupin very much." Snape started to say something, but Harry spoke more quickly, trying to get in what he wanted to say. "But he was a wonderful teacher and he's been, well, helpful to me ever since third year. I mean, if he hadn't taught me to conjure a patronus I don't know if I would've made it to the end of term. And since I've been reading your books I know that it's really expensive and that not very many people could brew it for him, but you did, even though you don't like him-" Harry cut himself off, realizing that he was rambling. "Anyway, I appreciate you making it for him."

"The headmaster provided me with funds to procure the necessary ingredients," Snape said awkwardly, not sure how to deal with the boy's gratitude, something that he was entirely unaccustomed to.

Harry just smiled, as though he understood what Snape was feeling, and after a moment they went back to discussing the properties of aconite. Although the Potions Master would have a hard time admitting it, he actually enjoyed that meal, discussing one of the few things he was passionate about with somebody who, surprising though it may seem, demonstrated equal interest in the subject, if not equal knowledge or understanding.

Eventually, the plates were cleared away, no doubt by Snape's quiet and near-invisible house elf Tizzy, signaling the end of the meal.

"Perhaps, considering your newfound interest in potions, now would be a good time to begin your remedial potions lessons," came the suggestion from across the table. Harry looked up nervously. _Well, that put a damper on things pretty fast,_ Snape thought with amusement.

"I must admit, Harry, considering your apparent interest in advanced potion-making concepts, I am surprised that you have fared as poorly as you have in my classes."

"You've got to be kidding! It never mattered how - never mind. I'm sorry, sir."

"No Harry, please continue." Snape said quietly. After having spent the better part of an hour enthusiastically - well, enthusiastically by his standards - discussing some of the finer points of potion-making, he knew that many of Harry's failures could likely be attributed to his own poor teaching.

"Well, sir, it's just that, the first day of potions ever you started by asking me questions that no first year would know, at least not a muggle-born."

"Miss Granger seemed well aware of the answers to my questions," Snape couldn't help but defending himself a little bit. Harry gave him a look that said, _Really? Of course Hermione knew the answers_. The corners of Snape's mouth twitched in what looked suspiciously like a smile, but he quickly bit it back and put his mask back in place, before nodding to Harry to continue.

"And then, at the end of every summer, you would always pick me out of everybody to answer the questions because you _knew _I wouldn't have it done. I mean, I know it wasn't your fault 'cause you didn't know that the Dursleys locked my books and my wand and everything away during the summer so that I had to do all of my homework on the train, but still." Snape hadn't known that particular piece of information about Harry's home life. In fact, he had often wondered since starting occlumency why Harry didn't do better on his homework than everyone else, considering that he was locked away in a room with nothing else to do. He shook himself back to awareness when he realized that Harry hadn't stopped talking.

"-and the way you treat the Gryffindors, always humiliating us for the benefit of your precious Slytherins," Harry was full on ranting now, almost forgetting who he was talking to. "It's really no better than bullying." Harry stopped when he heard the low growl that was emitted from Snape's mouth, realizing that maybe he had gone too far. Snape was instantly angry at being compared to a bully, thinking back to his school days of being called names and being teased for the way he looked, but after once more forcing himself to take a few deep breaths, he knew that he couldn't really fault the boy for his analysis. And the reasons that he had once used to justify his treatment - protecting himself from the eyes of Death Eaters' children, for example - were seeming weaker by the moment. He could have treated Harry poorly enough to protect his position and still treated him far better than what he had done. He looked at the boy in front of him, who was now looking at him nervously, waiting for the fallout.

"As tempted as I am to deny your statements, I am aware of the truth of them. And I am sorry." Two apologies in two days. What was the world coming to?

Harry looked as surprised as his professor at the apology. "It's okay sir."

"No, it isn't, Harry. I was no more popular as a student than I am as a teacher. And that was hard enough, even when my schoolboy enemies were other students. I can only imagine my reaction if one of my professors had treated me as poorly as I have treated you." Snape cleared his throat. He had no idea how to do this. He had spent the last fifteen years building a terrifying persona at the school and here he was destroying the whole thing with one conversation.

"Now that we have...cleared the air, somewhat, perhaps we can start on those potions." Harry nodded, still slightly shell-shocked from the revelations that had been floating around the table, and stood to go to the potions lab.

* * *

A/N: Sorry to end it here! I know it's sort of a weird stopping point, but this chapter was getting long and I need to consider where to go next. I look forward to hearing from you guys! Hope you enjoyed. :)


	11. Brewing Practice

"Well done, you've officially managed to botch a second year potion on four consecutive attempts. I don't know that even Mr. Longbottom ever managed that feat," Snape sneered.

Harry was standing in front of a bright orange, sticky mess, that looked nothing like the lilac Sleeping Draught he had been intending to make.

Snape groaned inwardly at the dejected look on the boy's face. He did not have the patience for this. "What's the problem, Mr. Potter? Harry."

"The problem is that I can't even manage to make something that most 12-year olds can do!" He exclaimed frustratedly.

"Yes, that much is apparent. What I meant, Harry, is why? From our discussion over lunch, it seems apparent that you do possess the mental faculties to understand the theory of potions. However, you seem entirely incapable of putting that theory into practice in even the most basic of ways."

"You just don't understand! I'm trying to, but it's just- it's just- I don't know!"

"You are correct in your assertion that I do not in fact understand your trouble, particularly not with a potion this...simplistic, in nature. The instructions seem clear enough to me. Which is why, if you can't verbalize your difficulties, I find myself incapable of helping you."

Harry looked up at the tall man. Even though he looked as imposing and untrustworthy as ever, he did seem to be keeping his patience...well, more than usual anyways. And his question was a valid one. Harry took a moment to sort out his thoughts.

"It's the timing, I think. Everything has to be done just so. A minute here, thirty seconds there, and in between, you have to find time to chop and crush and mix everything properly, but if you rush through and don't do it evenly enough, then that messes your potion up too. Plus, you're supposed to be stirring in between adding ingredients as well. If I could just...I don't know, prepare everything in advance, and then brew, I think I would be okay, but trying to do it all at once...it's like every step I get a little bit more behind and by the end I can't catch up." He let out a huff of frustration and crossed his arms, plopping down onto the stool behind him and looking every bit the pouty child. Snape was sorely tempted to let out a snarky comment about his behavior, but knowing that the rest of the break would be spent trying to improve Harry's potions abilities, he restrained his natural instinct to insult the boy.

"It is true that potions making requires a certain grace of movement and timing that some people, notably yourself, seem to be lacking in," Snape paused, pondering. "I have an idea, although I'm not sure if it will work. You seem to have a flare for cooking, do you not? Considering the lack of ingredients in my cupboard, you managed to make a rather good meal on your first night here." Despite his best efforts, Harry couldn't stop the small smile from emerging. That was the closest thing to a complement he'd ever heard Snape give to anybody outside of Slytherin house. The smile vanished rather quickly though, as the memories of times spent in the kitchen of Number Four, Privet Drive, forced their way to the front of his mind.

"I do like cooking, sir. Well, sometimes...I mean, I enjoyed what I did the other night, that is," Harry stated uncertainly. Snape could easily fill in the gaps in that sentence: Harry liked cooking, as long as he wasn't doing it under threat of violence. "But the thing is, sir, it's not as sensitive as making potions."

"Yes, I am aware of that, having trained extensively in the art of potions brewing myself," Snape couldn't help the small sneer on his face, "but that is exactly why I think it would be useful practice. I see no reason for you to keep depleting my stores of ingredients so rapidly when it seems almost guaranteed that you will fail to produce any useful product. Not to mention, many potions would become toxic or explosive if subjected to the treatment that you gave this one today," he nodded towards the still bubbling orange gloop. "However, if you treat cooking like potions - that is to say, wait to prepare your ingredients in the same manner required by potions, follow the recipe closely, and handle it as though it is a potentially very sensitive task, even if it is not - you could over time improve your speed and brewing abilities without actually ruining so many of my belongings." Harry thought back to the cauldron that he had melted earlier, and grimaced. "It would also likely aid in your ability to chop ingredients quickly and accurately, which will perhaps be of more use than any other skill in your brewing."

"Yes sir, that actually...that sounds like a good idea. I could start slow and work up that way. And I'm sure I could make some good meals for you too. I mean, I'm sure I've cooked some excellent things for the Dursleys over the years. Well, I didn't usually get to try it, so I'm not exactly sure, but I used to get punished when they didn't like my food, and lately they've liked it, I guess, because I haven't been punished so much...for cooking, that is. So I'm sure I could make something that you would like too," the boy peered up hopefully.

Snape closed his eyes for a moment, taking a breath before opening them again and looking down at the child who all of the sudden looked rather younger than his fifteen years. He was glad that Harry was starting to share some pieces of information about his life with those blasted relatives of his, but he wished that he didn't have to be the one to hear it. It brought back far too many memories of his own unhappy childhood. Realizing that those green eyes were still looking for some type of response, he stated, "Yes, Harry, based on my previous experience with your cooking, I'm sure you are perfectly capable of preparing meals that will be more than satisfying. However, I will not eat them unless you partake as well. This is intended to be practice, not punishment." Harry nodded, apparently understanding, although Snape thought he caught a flicker of something else in the boy's eyes...

"Harry," he said rather reluctantly. "You said earlier that your relatives would punish you if your cooking wasn't to their satisfaction." Harry nodded again, this time the apprehension clear in his gaze and his posture. "What punishments, exactly, would they use?" Harry didn't make any move to answer, but his mind was racing. It was tempting, so very tempting, to spill all of the secrets that he had kept closely guarded for so many years. On the other hand, he was still trying to decide whether or not he trusted Snape. Certainly, he had gotten Harry away from the Dursleys, at least temporarily - Harry wasn't willing to believe quite yet that it was a permanent change - and he had clearly been making an effort to constrain his normal insulting and impatient responses to Harry's behavior...and, well, Harry in general. On the other hand, did a few days of tolerance make up for four years of verbal abuse? Harry stared hard at the ground, trying to sort through his conflicting feelings. Apparently tired of waiting for a response, the Potions Master sighed softly.

"I understand that you may not want to answer me immediately. However, for a variety of reasons, I believe you do need to talk about these experiences. And, it was my impression from your response when I alerted Professors McGonogall and Dumbledore to your...plight...that you did not, for the moment, want anyone else to be aware of the situation." At Harry's frantic head shaking, Snape nodded, resigned. "Well, with your Head of House and the Headmaster unavailable at the moment, I'm afraid that leaves me. But the conversation need not be right now." When Harry dared to peek up again, Snape looked more tired than Harry could ever remember seeing him. The professor stared at him appraisingly, and then seeming to find whatever he was looking for, turned towards the door.

"Considering the time that we both have put into brewing today, I will ask Tizzy to provide supper for tonight. We will, however, need to continue our unfinished occlumency lesson from this morning. The library, in one hour." Without waiting for a response, he turned and stiffly walked out of the lab, clearly uncomfortable with what had just passed.

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A/N: Thanks for the kind reviews, everybody! I hope you enjoy this chapter as well, and the next one should be up within the next day or two!


	12. Memories of Snape

Exactly one hour after the odd conversation in the potions lab, Harry stepped carefully into the library, his guard up after the sudden attack that morning. No similar attack came, however. Snape was sitting at his desk, hands clasped and head bowed, looking rather more serious than even Harry was used to seeing him. The professor looked up at the sound of footsteps on the wood floor, and nodded at Harry to take his seat.

"Clear your mind, Mr. Potter," came the deep voice. Harry was about to make a comment about using his given name, but stopped himself. He could tell from the mask that was clamped down over Snape's face that now was probably not the time, and it occurred to him that to perform legilimency, the professor might have to shut himself off a bit. He nodded, doing his best to picture nothing but blank space between his ears. But, as usual, with the whispered spell all of his memories returned in a flood.

It only took Snape a moment to break through Harry's thin wall of fog and into the memories at the front of his mind. After this morning's disastrous attempts at choosing which memories to view, he had decided to let nature take its course. Immediately, he was sucked into a memory of an unnaturally clean kitchen.

_"What are you doing," shrieked a voice that Snape remembered all too well from his own childhood. "Honestly, boy, can't you get anything right?" The criticism was directed at a little black haired child of maybe six or seven. Too young to be standing at the stove alone, in any case. "You'll burn it, boy!" came a deeper voice that must have belonged to Petunia's husband. The tiny figure was now rushing around, trying to get pans off of the stove, pour cups of coffee, and do any number of other tasks. Snape could feel the panic rising in the memory as Harry made it to the stove too late. The bacon was slightly overdone. Roaring with displeasure, the large, menacing looking figure of Vernon Dursley stormed over from the table, shoving Harry's hand down onto the still hot burner. Harry squealed in pain, vision blurring as tears leaked from his eyes. "Maybe now you'll remember not to burn our food next time, boy," Vernon spat, and Snape saw the child being dragged down the hall by an arm and then thrown against a wall inside a dark cupboard._

Snape managed to pull himself out of the memory before anything else happened, and found himself spinning into a different part of Harry's mind.

_He looked down at the ingredients piled before him, prepared for brewing. Then, he felt, more than saw, a menacing presence above him, only to look up and see...himself. He felt Harry's anger rising at hearing the snide remarks that, he could silently admit now, were entirely unfair. _

_Snape watched with interest as the boy brewed, trying to figure out why he found it so impossible to make even first year potions. It was actually going well, until he saw Draco throwing something into Harry's cauldron, which promptly turned a sizzling blue. He saw himself marching over and demanding that Harry explain his incompetence, only to give him detention when the boy attempted to give an account of Malfoy's actions. _

Back in the library of Prince Manor, Snape physically winced at the deep sadness and frustration that he felt in the 11-year old mind, glad that the present version of Harry couldn't see him. He left that memory, and another quickly replaced it. He saw what could only be the Gryffindor common room, with three Third Years circled around the fire.

_"Honestly, Harry, you could at least put in a little bit of effort. Here, look, you can even see what pages I've read for reference," Hermione said helpfully, shoving her book in Harry's direction. Snape could see that she had a finished essay on recognizing werewolves, written in neat, tiny handwriting, laying across her lap. _

_Harry looked at her, annoyed. "Why waste the time, Hermione? We both know that with Snape teaching Defense Against the Dark Arts, it wouldn't matter if I were the most talented student in the school. He'll still fail me, he has been since first year."_

_"Yes, but Harry, you _love _that class. And Professor Snape won't be teaching it forever, only until Professor Lupin returns. Won't you want him to be pleased with your progress? I know how much he means to you!" Hermione was practically begging him to work harder, although Snape couldn't imagine why she bothered._

_"Speaking of which, where is Lupin, anyways?" asked Ron. "I mean, I'd personally like to know exactly how long we're going to have to put up with the greasy git for. One class is horrible enough, but two? Count me out." _

_Snape could see out of the corner of Harry's vision that Hermione looked torn about something. He guessed that even then, the brilliant young witch had known about Lupin's little secret. Interesting, that she had opted to remain quiet about it. _

_"Ronald, honestly, don't talk about a professor that way! And you both should be working harder. Harry, I know that Professor Snape isn't overly fond of you, but you know that to be an auror you need NEWT-level potions. You'll never get there at this rate."_

_"Hermione," Harry tried to reason, "I have no idea why the man has it in for me, but he does. I mean, remember on the first day of classes, ever? When he gave me detention for being the only person in the room who was actually taking notes?" Hermione nodded miserably, unable to argue that point, and Snape saw a memory of a memory in Harry's mind, and cringed. He could feel Harry's excitement rising at the dramatic speech he was giving about bottling glory and stoppering death, the same speech that he gave to every class of First Years. And then he heard himself giving the 'Golden Boy' a detention for doodling. When the child looked down and Snape saw the page of his notebook, he saw that Harry had dutifully written down every word he had said. When Harry looked up again, Snape saw the Slytherin students snickering from across the room, saw himself giving them indulgent looks, and felt Harry's cheeks burning in humiliation. His stomach clenched unpleasantly at watching the memory from this perspective, although he remembered the day quite well himself. _

_"Well, it's obvious, isn't it?" Ron's voice brought Harry back to the present. "Everybody knows that he worked for You-Know-Who! Clearly he's still got it in for Harry because he took down Voldemort."_

_"Dumbledore trusts him," Hermione said decisively, "so we should too. Now, we have class early tomorrow, I suggest that we all get some rest." Despite Hermione's assuredness of his trustworthiness, he could feel the indecision weighing heavily on Harry's mind, and he pulled himself out of the boy's thoughts completely, having no interest in hearing any further discussion of his loyalties. _

When he came back to himself, he saw the boy panting in his chair, looking exhausted. It was rather pathetic that he could be putting in so much effort, and yet Snape felt nothing even resembling a mental defense. He glared down at the wood on his desk, trying to decide what to do next. It was apparent that Harry had no skill whatsoever at occlumency, and had possibly even regressed since the morning session. And yet, development of the skill was a necessity, not only to the Order, but also to himself. He shuddered to think at what the Dark Lord might do if he broke into Harry's mind and saw his prized servant, his loyal Death Eater, teaching the Boy-Who-Lived defensive mind magic.

Looking up, he saw the teenager watching him nervously through dark fringe. _Probably worried about how I'll react to seeing his memories of me_, Snape thought with amusement, _as if I didn't know he hated me_. His thoughts were troubled, though, and he still felt a knot of guilt in his stomach when he thought of how upset and humiliated he had made Harry feel. It wasn't a feeling he was accustomed to, and he wanted to rid himself of it as soon as possible.

"Clearly, Potter, you aren't improving at all. In fact, as you get more tired, I daresay that you become even worse than you are on a normal day. That is unfortunate, seeing as how these are likely the times in which the Dark Lord will strike. However, should he choose to do so, you should feel free to show him any of the memories that I just saw, with the exception of the first one. I would far rather him see your hatred of me than any image of me aiding you. That would not end well for either of us, I assure you." Harry ducked his head, embarrassed at his continued failure, but also slightly concerned. It hadn't actually occurred to him that should Voldemort invade his mind, Snape's cover would be totally blown. Then the rest of Snape's words caught up to him, and he glanced up, looking the professor fully in the eyes for the first time since the session began.

"I've never hated you, Professor. I thought you would have been able to sense that much from my memories. As I recall, you were the one that hated me. I mean, we both know that you treated me far worse than you had to just to protect your cover. And I know that you didn't like my dad and all, but still. Don't try and put this on me." His streak of boldness left him, and Harry looked back down at his knees again.

Snape just sat there quietly, taking a deep breath to calm himself before speaking again. "I don't see us making any more progress tonight. Feel free to spend the remaining hours of your evening however you wish, and I will see you at supper." It was a clear dismissal, and as Harry walked back to his room, he wondered just how much their relationship had regressed in the past half an hour.

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A/N: Thank you all once more for the lovely reviews I've been receiving! We're getting close to some more emotional moments between the two, so just hang on a little bit longer! Also, I'm sorry this chapter took a little longer to get posted. I had planned to do it last week, but preparations for the new semester caught up to me and I got distracted. Hopefully it was worth the wait. :)


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